


Their Finest Hour

by easy_company_tradition



Series: Catch Her If You Can [2]
Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Slow Burn, it's a really long slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:35:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28503840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easy_company_tradition/pseuds/easy_company_tradition
Summary: "Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duty and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say: This was their finest hour." - Winston ChurchillThough Churchill was referencing Britain in his speech, many people of the US continue to view D-Day as the 'finest hour' of the American military. However, Captain Georgia Fenley views it quite differently. Her D-Day hasn't gone according to plan one bit - and she doesn't even know if she's going to make it out alive.
Relationships: Richard Winters/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Catch Her If You Can [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869670
Kudos: 13





	1. June 6th, 1944. Cotentin Peninsula, Normandy.

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAH WE'RE FINALLY HERE!! I'm so excited to begin sharing Georgia's Normandy experience with all of you :) and there aren't enough ways to express how grateful I am for all of the kudos, comments, and just overall views CHIYC has gotten thus far! This specific part of the story will be updated every Friday until it's done, and then we'll be moving on to England and Holland.
> 
> This chapter picks up exactly where Chapter 15 of We'll Start the War from Right Here left off, so go check that out if you need a refresher on where we are. Have a lovely day everyone, and enjoy the story!

**_June 6th, 1944. Cotentin Peninsula, Normandy._ **

Georgia was going to die scared and alone in Normandy.

She could see blurry flashes silhouetting innumerable parachutes against a moonless sky. Orange explosions as planes were hit, green lights in doors, and tracer rounds streaking golden across the sky were all visible. The muggy night air of Normandy was so, so close. Her legs were pinned underneath her own weight and that of her gear. She couldn’t kick them free. The paracord risers of her chute dug into her arms as they tangled tighter and tighter. They were pulling taught around her small frame, wrapping her up in preparation for the grave. 

That promise to hit dry land when she jumped into Normandy that she’d made to herself about twenty minutes earlier seemed to be going just splendidly.

The water Georgia lay struggling beneath was cool, and it reminded her of going to Virginia Beach as a child. The air by the ocean had been warm and breezy, and it smelled of salt. Georgia could almost taste it. If she could just get one, tiny breath -

She opened her mouth.

Water rushed in. Georgia began to panic. Her throat burned worse than if she’d down a whole glass of Vat 69 in one go, and her vision was starting to spot. Her rifle was digging into her back and her compass was digging into her wrist. She couldn’t get either one of her hands free to grab her trench knife. She thrashed more. Every movement took ten times the amount of effort that it normally did. She was moving in slow motion, and then her vision was gone. She remembered seeing snow for the first time in New Jersey with Lew.

Georgia was going to die scared and alone in Normandy.

She tried to breathe again. Georgia choked as silk filled her mouth alongside tepid water. Her parachute was quickly morphing into her burial shroud. One leg kicked free. Georgia’s vision was blacker than black, but she threw herself over onto her side. She kicked her leg back and grasped blindly around the laces of her jump boots. Her hand met leather and military issue canvas.

Georgia frantically opened the clasp and ripped her trench knife from its scabbard. She slashed and struck at the parachute covering her face. She slashed and struck at the shroud lines trapping her arms.

Georgia was going to die scared and alone in Normandy.

She couldn’t breathe. Her mouth was filled with water and mud. Her knife cut across her forearm, and Georgia let out a muffled cry. Her throat lit on fire anew. She thought she was crying. Was she? There was so much water that she couldn’t tell anymore. She was sinking slowly into the mud, it was going to swallow her. She twisted and turned and pivoted and -

One arm jerked free.

She began grasping at her parachute silk like a madman, searching for an edge. The muffled sounds of anti-aircraft fire suddenly seemed closer.

Her other arm ripped free.

She dragged herself through the water, raising her hands every so often. 

Georgia was going to die scared and alone in Normandy.

She felt soft blades of grass between her fingertips.

She ripped herself up and felt cool air on her face. Georgia dragged herself up and out of the water until she was on her hands and knees and on solid ground for the first time that day.

Georgia coughed out the water in her lungs. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her red hair was matted down. Her helmet lay beside her on the ground. She could see that same burning building she’d spotted from the plane in the distance. 

Sound came rushing back next. Bullets and a tolling church bell.

Then smell. Smoke, gasoline, and something disgusting, burning, and rotten. Georgia couldn’t figure out the source of the stench until she looked at the burning building again.

Beside it was a church and hung from the steeple was a man. His chute was caught on the roof, and he just hung there, surrounded by a hail of bullets. The building next to the church was the source of the fire she’d seen from the plane. Georgia watched in horror as another paratrooper descended into the blaze. His ammunition went off and his grenades exploded.

She threw up. 

Georgia was going to die scared and alone in Normandy, just like those other two soldiers.

She was still crying.

“Goddamnit,” she muttered to herself. Her mouth tasted of acid and tears. Georgia reached down to her belt and pulled off her canteen, letting the cool, non-Normandy sourced water soothe her throat. 

She drank slowly, only choking in a panic two or three times. Her breath was heaving. She leaned forward and let her head drop down to rest on top of her folded arms. As she sat there, the last of the C-47s flew overhead as they returned to England. Georgia could only just make out the black and white invasion stripes painted on their wings.

Turning back to her mangled parachute, Georgia cut herself free from her shroud lines with her trench knife.

After weakly kicking the remnants of her mangled parachute aside, she looked down to her watch. It read one-thirty AM French time - meaning only ten minutes had passed since the jump.

Then she stopped.

Georgia had heard a voice, and she sat bolt upright. She listened to the wind, to the gunfire, and to a man speaking in a guttural language. She barely heard anything, but she heard enough.

The man’s accent was thick and unmistakably German. Just like the language.

Georgia pulled her .45 from its holster and dropped onto her stomach. She could see two German soldiers walking towards her, their curved helmets stark against the distant fire and lights of the town. As far as Georgia saw it, she had two options.

She could either pack up valuable intelligence documents and some of her weapons and risk these soldiers following her back to the correct drop zone, or she could deal with them right now. It was night, and the chaos of the burning building in the nearby town would be more than enough to cover the noise of her .45 or her carbine being discharged.

Taking off the safety, Georgia raised her pistol.

These two men were going to die scared and alone in Normandy.

_ Bang. _

The soldier on the left dropped, and his buddy startled.

_ Bang. _

His buddy dropped dead beside him.

Georgia crouched low through the tall grass and ran over to the two bodies. They were both officers, Lieutenants by the look of it. Both men had Lugers, which Georgia promptly grabbed along with the appropriate ammunition. Next, she ran her hands over the bodies, feeling for any documents. All she found was a picture of a pretty girl and a set of orders written in German.

She sighed. She could translate a few words, but she’d have to get one of the regimental translators to tell her what the entire message was.

Georgia glanced at the two bodies again.

Hell, at least it wasn’t her.

As Georgia stood, she dropped some of the ammo and swore. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t tell if she wanted to cry again or throw up again.

“Damnit Georgia, get it together,” she whispered as she stalked back to her gear, “you’ve got a war to win.”

She needed to move. The German officers’ bodies would most likely be discovered when dawn broke, and Georgia needed to find Colonel Sink. Using the distant light of the fire, she pulled her silk escape scarf from around her neck and laid it out.

“We jumped at one-twenty in the morning, with an approximate speed of …” Georgia trailed off, speaking quietly to herself as she examined her map of the Cotentin Peninsula.

“Sainte-Mère-Église,” she said. She was right beside the small French town of Sainte-Mère-Église, one of the planned drop zones for the 82nd. The bulk of the 506th was supposed to be near St. Marie-du-Mont, around six miles southeast of Georgia’s current position. She retrieved her waterlogged compass from her around her wrist and spun slowly until she was facing the correct direction. As far as Georgia could see, all she would have to pass through were deserted farm fields and hedgerows that stood tall against the starless black sky. Pulling her watch from beneath her sleeve, Georgia gave herself two hours to walk there - if that cut on her arm from her trench knife didn’t make her bleed out first. With one last, long look at the dead paratrooper hanging from the burning church, Georgia gathered up her gear, dropped her main chute and her reserve, and stalked off into the night.

The night grew quiet as Georgia walked alone through the French countryside. Her mind was rushing, and she’d jump and raise her rifle whenever a breeze whistled through the trees that line the edges of the open fields. She hadn’t come across any more Germans, which was a good thing, especially since she couldn’t speak German particularly well. She could never quite manage to get her pronunciations right.

As she continued walking, she could smell the sea air. It reminded her of Norfolk, and the French countryside before her blurred into images of her home. Georgia closed her eyes and saw blurry images through water, so she snapped them open again. She had a job to do, and she didn’t have time to waste.

All around her, Normandy stood quiet. Hedgerows jutted up against the sky, keeping watch over open fields of crops that Georgia couldn’t identify. Dick probably could, given his interest in agriculture.

After nearly an hour and half of walking, Georgia saw light. It was further east than the planned CP, but Georgia highly doubted that the Germans would risk putting up floodlights after witnessing an Allied airborne infantry landing. As she continued forward towards the glowing yellow light, she heard something.

_ Click-clack. _

It was a paratrooper cricket, sounding behind her.

Her breath catching, Georgia pulled her cricket from her pocket and responded.

_ Click-clack. Click-clack. _

Georgia heard rustling behind her, and whirled around, only to come face-to-face with Ron Speirs.

“Sparky,” she said quietly.

Ron’s brow furrowed as he looked at the Lugers tucked into Georgia’s pocket and her damp hair.

“You landed in water,” he said, still looking at her strangely.

“Excellent observation,” Georgia snapped, “now come on. I’m fairly certain that’s Regimental HQ, and I’ve got assaults to help plan.”

Shrugging, Ron began to walk in step with Georgia. Neither one knew what to say.

Georgia just continued in silence, contemplating. She still felt alone, even though Ron was right next to her. Something was wrong with her, something she couldn’t seem to put her finger on.

The glow of the yellow floodlight grew and grew until Ron and Georgia finally saw a cluster of small fieldstone buildings. Paratroopers from both the 82nd and the 101st milled about, with a couple of women Georgia recalled from I Company guarding a barn. 

“Georgia!” Colonel Sink called as he walked over. “I’m glad to see you here.”

“I’m glad to be here, sir,” she said. Georgia dug through her pockets until she found the German officers’ orders, still intact. “I landed about six miles northwest of the planned DZ just outside of Sainte-Mère-Église. I dealt with a pair of German Lieutenants, and one of them was carrying this,” she finished, handing Colonel Sink the paper. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron fade away to light a cigarette.

The colonel took the paper and examined it before handing it back to her as he made to light his cigarette. “None of the regimental translators have shown up yet. Take it to someone who speaks German and find out what the hell it says, if you’d be so kind.”

“Of course, sir,” Georgia said before saluting and walking away. 

Around the current HQ for the 506th, Georgia could see some cows in a pasture, and it reminded her of Luz’s antics in Aldbourne. As she continued walking down the muddy road, she spotted another familiar face.

“Buck!”

The blond man turned to look at her, and a relieved smile crossed his face as he recognized her approaching form.

“Hey, Georgia! God, you look awful,” he said.

Georgia stopped beside him and a few other E Company men who’d made it. Luz, Liebgott, Grant, and Randleman.

“Damn, Buck, you sure do know the way to a girl’s heart,” she finished with a laugh. 

Laughing came easy. It was easier than acknowledging the blood on her hands and the two dead bodies she’d left behind six miles ago.

How many bodies would be behind her by the time this war was over?

“You mind if I borrow Liebgott for a while? None of our resident regimental German speakers have shown up yet.”

Buck nodded. “Liebgott!”

“Sir?”

“Go with Georgia and translate.”

“Yes sir,” said Liebgott, grabbing his Garand and helmet. He strode up to Georgia and saluted. “Captain.”

“Thank you,” Georgia said as she turned to walk away. “As you were.”

She nodded to Liebgott, and they began walking back to the stone barn that was to be the center of the 506th’s operations for the time being. The brown mud squelched beneath their boots, and it reminded Georgia too much of her landing. Shaking her head, she watched the blood from dead livestock swirl into little rivers across the ground. The smell of death was ever-present, and it scared Georgia that she was becoming used to it so quickly. Eventually, the barn loomed in front of them. Georgia pushed open the door, and check to see that Liebgott was still behind her. Once they passed the threshold, it was a whole different world.

A world that Georgia knew how to survive in.

Colonel Strayer was clustered around a map with the other battalion COs and XOs, and the few intelligence officers present were going over their individual intel. A few orderlies were making coffee, and some sergeants were stacking ammunition in a corner. Burlap feed sacks were pinned over the windows, and a single light swung from the roof beams.

Georgia led Liebgott to a corner with a decent amount of light and laid her gear out in the hopes that it would dry out sometime soon. Then, she addressed Liebgott.

“The only intelligence documents I’ve got at the moment are in German, and I can’t read it all very well.”

Liebgott nodded, and Georgia handed him the small paper. His brow furrowed as he read the paper, and he whispered to himself. Georgia watched him intently until he straightened up and looked at her.

“It’s ordered for them to inform a superior officer - Pluskat - of the paratrooper invasions near their position.”

“Good,” Georgia said, letting a ghost of a smile cross her face, “that’s good.”

“I don’t follow,” Liebgott said as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “How is it good that some Jerries are trying to tell their buddies we’re here?”

“Liebgott, I got these orders off of two dead German officers. The fact that they sent two officers in person tells me that other lines of communication weren’t an option, which means the Maquis and SOE operatives did their jobs. And if they sent officers over enlisted, it means that they want this message to be taken seriously, which implies that it hasn’t been thus far,” she said.

“They don’t think it’s the invasion,” Liebgott breathed out as his face broke out into a grin.

“Exactly,” Georgia said with a smile, “and we’ve got to capitalize on that while we can.”

Liebgott continued to smile at her as she spread out her map on the table.

Tracing her finger over the map, Georgia talked herself through the day’s events thus far.

“I landed here,” she said, tapping the words neatly printed black words Sainte-Mère-Église, “and encountered the Germans at the same spot. They were heading due south, which means …” Georgia murmured to no one in particular.

“Which means what?” Liebgott asked

“Which means they were most likely heading for the bridge over the Douve River, and that this Pluskat is most likely located closer to Omaha Beach.”

“And?”

“And he’ll be the 82nd’s problem. The messengers are dead, he doesn’t know we’re here.”

Liebgott nodded, and Georgia took a deep breath again. If she closed her eyes, it felt like she was still struggling to break free from the paracord tangled around her.

“Go back to Easy, Liebgott,” she said, “you’ll need your strength for later today.”

“Yes, Captain,” said Liebgott. He grabbed his rifle and saluted her before walking towards the door to rejoin whatever else had amassed of his company.

Pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes, Georgia took a deep breath. She had work to do.

She turned back to her map. This Pluskat fellow was too far away to be the 506th’s problem, but there would be other important German positions nearby. The small farm they occupied was most likely seated close to some gun emplacements or observation posts. It was Georgia’s role to guess where that position was, then go scout and see if her guess was correct. If it was, then she’d select a company to go and deal with the Germans present.

She took a moment to lay out most of her ammunition in the hopes that it would dry out, before turning back to her map. The next few hours were marked with painstaking recollection and conjecture until she’d narrowed down the most likely spot for an enemy position. Georgia was just about to head out and scout when it began.

She could see a sliver of light from outside.

Dawn had broken, and so had Hitler’s Atlantic Wall. At five-thirty sharp, as the sun’s rays were barely starting to filter through the hedgerows, the noises had begun as well as the shaking of the ground. The naval batteries had begun to open fire on the pillboxes and gun emplacements all along the coastline. As the din continued, Georgia loaded her carbine and her .45 and prepared to head out. She consulted one last time with Colonel Sink, then looked at the door.

Then Georgia glanced at her watch.

Six-twenty-nine AM.

She stood still for a moment, and gradually, the other regimental staff officers joined her.

They waited.

And waited.

And then the machine gun fire started.

It was H-Hour on D-Day, and the seaborne infantry invasion of Normandy had just begun.


	2. June 6th, 1944. Le Grand Chemin, Normandy. France.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's still D-Day ... let's see how the rest of June 6th goes for Georgia Fenley!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday everyone! I hope you all are safe and well, and enjoying today's chapter!

**_June 6th, 1944. Le Grand Chemin, Normandy. France._ **

Having the German battery firing did make it much easier to find. All Georgia had to do was listen to the sound of the 88s get louder and louder as she walked in this direction or that, and the work was done for her.

Georgia crept silently through the brush surrounding a small manor house, rifle in hand. The tall grass brushed gently against her jump pants, and the wood stock of her rifle was smooth and solid against her calloused hands. She had the hands of a soldier now, not of a pretty debutante from Virginia. What would her family think when they read the morning paper today?

Georgia pushed the thought from her mind and peered through the hedgerow before her. She could see four guns, connected via trenches. They were firing steadily down onto the boys landing on Utah Beach, and they were going to do a hell of a lot of damage if they weren’t taken out of commission any time soon. With one last look at the early morning sun glinting off the metal of the German helmets, Georgia turned back towards the HQ.

When she entered, she couldn’t find Colonel Sink.

“Where the hell is he?” said Georgia to herself.

“Can I help you, Captain?” asked Colonel Strayer.

“I suppose so,” she said, stepping forward through the hay that lay strewn across the floor, “There’s a German battery about 250 yards north of where we are, sir. They’re firing directly down onto Utah Beach.”

Strayer nodded, “Who do you think we should send? None of the companies are at full strength yet, so don’t be hasty in your decision.”

Georgia didn’t hesitate. “Easy Company,” she said, “They have an impeccable performance record, and I know they’ll be able to handle the assignment.”

Strayer nodded again and jerked his head towards the door. “Go find the Colonel and tell him the plan.”

“Yes, sir.” Georgia saluted and walked back outside.

The situation Georgia found herself in had only grown more nightmarish in the hours since daybreak. Dead animals lay everywhere, right beside resting paratroopers sitting beneath trees and against fences. The mud sucked down at her jump boots making even walking morph into an impossible task.

At last, Georgia spotted Colonel Sink speaking to Captain Hester, the regimental operations officer.

“Colonel Sink!” Georgia shouted, trying to be heard.

He nodded to Hester sharply before approaching Georgia.

“What is it?” asked Sink.

“There’s a German battery firing onto Utah Beach two-hundred-fifty yards through those trees, sir,” said Georgia as she gestured to the area in question. “I’ve already scouted, and it looks like four 88s. Permission to brief Easy and send them in?”

Colonel Sink looked at the hedgerow that stood between them and the 88s and met Georgia’s gaze with a skeptical one of his own. “They’re nowhere near full strength, but then neither is any other damn company.”

“Is that permission, sir?” Georgia asked hopefully.

Sink smiled and shook his head. “Go see who’ve you got to work with, Georgia.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

Hopefully, Easy Company had amassed more men than just Buck, Luz, and Liebgott. They were damn good soldiers and damn good men, but Georgia wasn’t fond of the idea of sending the three of them in there alone.

Picking her way through the muddy road once more, Georgia looked towards the small grove of trees where the men had been before dawn. The green leaves stirred ever so slightly in the light breeze. Now, the grassy area was lined with around twenty men. Certainly enough for a basic tactical assault, she supposed.

And standing among the men was a lanky redhead.

“Nice to see you, Red,” Georgia called out as she stepped up into the trees.

Dick’s face lit up with a true smile, and he walked towards her with a spring in his step he hadn’t seemed to possess back in England. Combat leadership suited him. Reaching her, he smiled one of those rare, true, Dick Winters smiles once again as he shook her hand. “It’s nice to see you too, Georgia. How was your jump?”

“Jump was fine.”

“Water?” he asked, and Georgia froze.

“Your hair is wet, it makes sense,” said Dick.

“Of course,” Georgia said, remembering that she needed to speak in order to avoid suspicion. “How was your jump?”

“I lost my gun,” he said, “Picked this one up from -”

Georgia nodded. Taking weapons from their dead comrades was something they’d all have to get used to soon enough. 

Dick’s face showed his thoughts well enough, and Georgia bit her cheek. Caring wasn’t an asset, especially not in this environment.

“Have you seen Lew?” she asked. He was the one exception to her ‘not caring’ rule.

“Not yet,” said Dick.

Georgia huffed, and decided to change the subject. “Well, I’ll let you tell Meehan to organize the men,” she said.

“Meehan’s not here. And organize them for what?”

“What do you mean Meehan’s not here?”

“I mean no one’s seen him or anyone from his stick as of yet.”

“Then you’re going to take out the 88s down the road,” said Georgia, nodding to the spot. “I’ll meet you, your officers, and your NCOs in that barn in 10 minutes.”

Dick opened his mouth and closed it again, then nodded and began to bark out orders to his men as Georgia walked away. She went back to the barn and her maps and devised a solid plan.

After a few moments, Dick strode in. He was accompanied by Buck, Lipton, Toye, Guarnere, and several other men. They each saluted Georgia, then stood at ease as she began showcasing their objective on her maps.

“These 88s are between us and Causeway number two. Until you all deal with them, the boys at Utah Beach are stuck on the sand. You take out the guns and make sure there are no Germans left to fix them. Got it?”

The men nodded.

“Good. Dismissed,” said Georgia.

The men strode back out, and Dick shot her a short smile. “Nix’ll be fine, Red.”

“I know. Now go destroy some Kraut guns, Mr. Company XO.”

Dick rolled his eyes and strode out the door. 

The waiting was the worst. Georgia stood surrounded by her maps for around five minutes before a torrent of machine-gun and rifle fire started up near the German gun emplacement.

“Miss me?” an all too familiar voice asked, distracting her from her thoughts.

Georgia spun around to meet the smiling face of Lewis Nixon III. They shared a grin for a moment before he gave her a brotherly pat on the shoulder.

“I’m glad I don’t have to go through this war without my best friend,” said Georgia.

“Oh, stop it,” Lew said.

The two hunched down together and examined the maps as they compared notes. After a while, Colonel Strayer burst into the barn.

“Fenley!” he called sharply.

“Sir?”

He held out a cloth map to her. “Winters retrieved this map from the guns at Brecourt Manor. It’s got every Kraut gun in Normandy on it. Take it to the beachheads, it’ll be of more use to the Navy than to us.”

“Yes, sir.” Georgia slung her rifle onto her shoulder and tucked the map into her pocket before heading out.

She moved quickly and quietly through the French countryside, only pausing once to examine the map. 

Strayer had exaggerated. The map showcased every gun emplacement on the Cotentin Peninsula, not all of Normandy. Still, it would be more than enough to get the 506th into the Army brass’s good books.

After a moment, Georgia heard shouting from up ahead. As she looked up, she was met with the sight of the 4th Infantry Division climbing up from the beachheads.

Georgia smirked.

“Time to go showoff,” she whispered to herself. She continued her trek towards the channel, this time in search of a high ranking officer. She needed someone who would be able to actually use the information she provided, not a Lieutenant or a Captain. 

Soon enough, Georgia spotted a general - Roosevelt, she recalled. She’d seen his picture in the papers. His brown hair was graying at the temples, and he strode all around with his cane in hand as he assessed the situation of his men.

“That’s a woman!” A random Lieutenant standing beside the general called whilst pointing at her.

“Excellent observation, Lieutenant,” she said. All of the men were now focused on her. “Fenley, 506th PIR, 101st Division,” she said with an accompanying salute.

“At ease, Captain,” the general said, “How’s your regiment faring?”

“All right, thank you, sir. We’re low on manpower, but that’s to be expected in the paratroops.”

General Roosevelt nodded.

“However, one of our companies attacked a German battery earlier today, and they recovered this map,” Georgia said as she retrieved it. “It shows every German gun battery on the peninsula.”

Wide-eyed, the general and his men stepped forward to view it. As the annoying Lieutenant went to grab it from her, Georgia snatched it back.

“I give you the map, you give me two of those Shermans,” she said, nodding to the tanks. “Deal?”

General Roosevelt nodded, and Georgia smirked. She saluted, then walked off towards the hedgerow to collect her prize. She conferred briefly with the Captains of the respective tank crews, directed them back to the regimental HQ, then hopped on top of one of the tanks to ride back in style.

As they rumbled their way down the roads, Georgia had a much better view of the area where the 506th had landed. Hedgerows lined the edges of green farm fields, and roads connected small chateaus and manors. It felt like a fever dream, and Georgia couldn’t quite believe that it was all real.

Part of her had died, scared and alone in that ditch filled with water outside of Sainte-Mère-Église.

Soon enough, they began rumbling into the small village where the 506th was. Georgia motioned for the commander to stop the tank as she saw Lew and Dick looking at it.

“Care to come for a ride?” she asked playfully.

“Sure!” said Dick.

He and Lew handed Georgia their rifles, then pulled themselves up. Once they were situated, the tanks began to move again.

“Nice ride you’ve got here, G,” said Lew.

“It’s from General Roosevelt. A thank you for that map Dick picked up.”

Dick smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Georgia resolved to make Lew ask him about it later.

“Do we have to give these back?” Lew asked.

“Eventually, I suppose,” Georgia said, “but let’s put them to use while we’ve got them.”

“Fair enough,” Lew said. He pulled out a Lucky Strike and lit it, and Georgia breathed in the smoke as she leaned back against the warm metal of the tank. She was shoulder to shoulder with friends and starting to laugh like they had in Toccoa.

Georgia closed her eyes.

She was happy.

The tanks rumbled on, and the trio of officers eventually disembarked and nominated themselves to patrol the roads leading back to the CP. The way back was empty as the sun slid below the horizon, and the only major annoyance was the bugs.

“Jesus,” Lew said as he slapped his neck.

“The Krauts aren’t going to have to sneak up on us if you keep yelling so loud,” whispered Dick.

“I second that,” said Georgia.

“Ah, thank you for your input,” Lew snapped.

“Touchy,” Georgia shot back.

The two glared at each other for a few moments before bursting into quiet laughter and continuing it as they saw the confused look on Dick’s face. He shook his head and turned his eyes back to the road ahead of them.

By the time they made it back to the small village - Le Grand Chemin, they now knew it was called - darkness and the disciplines associated with it had arrived in force. Dick was standing on his own struggling to open a small can, and Georgia looked at Lew. He nodded and walked over to Dick, and Georgia turned away to walk down an empty side street.

Her red hair was mostly dry, and hopefully, the rest of her ammunition would be as well. She’d find a room to herself tonight, and try and lay out some of her clothes to dry. 

As Georgia walked further down the dark street, she lit a cigarette - it was the first one she’d had in nearly a day. The more she thought about it, the more one day ago seemed an infinite distance away.

A day ago, she’d never jumped into a war zone.

A day ago, she’d never nearly drowned.

A day ago, she’d never killed someone.

The worst part was, she didn’t feel anything. Georgia didn’t feel shame, remorse, guilt, joy, satisfaction, or anything. She saw not caring as an advantage, but not feeling anything at all was worrisome. She just felt empty, and what that could possibly mean scared her. Hell, she didn’t know what it meant.

Georgia didn’t like not knowing.

All she knew was that she hadn’t died scared and alone in Normandy.

She’d survived D-Day.

Her next objective was to make it through D+1.

  
  



	3. June 7th, 1944. Le Grand Chemin, Normandy. France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I know it's been a while since I've updated, but I'm back now :) enjoy!

**_June 7th, 1944. Le Grand Chemin, Normandy. France._ **

Georgia had barely slept. Every time she’d closed her eyes, she’d found herself back underwater, staring up at the C-47s flying overhead. Eventually, she had decided to go out alone on a midnight scouting mission so that she wouldn’t have to do it later on. After verifying intelligence she’d received from another regiment of paratroopers, Georgia had returned to the small barn where she’d spent most of her day yesterday. She eventually pulled back the cloth covering the barn window ever so slightly - just enough that she could see the outside and recognize where she was.

That little sliver of light had eventually served as her alarm clock, rousing her from a terrible dream around five-thirty.

The only thing Georgia could recall from her dream was dark water and paracord around her wrists.

Georgia ran a hand through her hair. She was grateful she hadn’t made too much noise. The other officers were just starting to stir, as they should be. After all, they were moving out to attack Vierville in less than an hour.

Looking out at the rising sun made her feel slightly better. Back when she’d been a child in Norfolk, sunrise had always been her favorite time of day. The world was quiet and ethereal and peaceful and full of possibilities and all the things the Fenley household never was.

But as always, the moment had to end.

Georgia took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

She had a job to do.

Her eyes snapped back open.

She pulled on her jump jacket and jump boots, then stood and stretched. Her neck still ached from the prop blast yesterday. Turning back to the straw-covered floor, Georgia put on her holster and .45, as well as her trench knife and scabbard. She tucked her compass into her pocket and set her binoculars around her neck. Lastly, she slung her carbine over her shoulder and went to find Colonel Sink.

He was outside, conferring with Hester. They were silhouetted against the lightening sky, standing in the mud and the blood of dead animals and dead men.

“Morning, Georgia,” the colonel said.

“Morning, sir,” she replied. “The intelligence for this attack is solid, I verified it myself.”

“That’s good,” said Hester, “I’ll go tell the company COs that we’re proceeding as planned.” With a nod to Georgia and a salute to Colonel Sink, Hester was off.

Sink nodded to her and turned back towards the regimental CP. Georgia leaned against a wooden fence and lit a cigarette. She’d pinched some from Dick a few days before the jump, as he had no use for them. As the smoke drifted upward, Georgia considered the day ahead of her. Solid intelligence and well-trained soldiers were as much as she could ask for. As the regiment gradually stirred to life, she stomped out her cigarette and walked off into the early morning sun to prepare herself.

After all, she had a village to help capture.

Easy Company took the lead on the march to Vierville, and they were in the thick of things when the shooting started. Bullets dinged and ricocheted off of anything and everything, and soon the air was filled with men and women screaming for medics. The air smelled bitter, and the din was deafening. Georgia eventually ran up next to the regimental level radio-op and barked instructions down to the battalion S-2s, who in turn relayed them to the company intelligence officers.

As the smoke cleared, Georgia walked down into the town beside Colonel Sink. From what she knew, the majority of the Normandy campaign was going to mirror this action. Hopping from town to town, killing Krauts, and relaying any significant intelligence they happened to come across to higher-ranking officers. 

The only significant thing Georgia had come across on D+1 was Dick sitting alone behind a small building. He had his arms on his knees and his knees tucked up to his chest in a most un-Dick-Winters-like manner.

“You’re sulking,” Georgia said as she walked up to him and leaned against the wall.

He looked at her and sighed. “I lost a man yesterday.”

Georgia wasn’t sure what to say, so she just nodded and let him speak.

“His name was private John Hall. He was from New York and in Able Company. Played on the 506th basketball team.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Dick cared so much for the men under his command. Georgia didn’t know how to make him feel better.

She didn’t like not knowing.

After a brief pause, she elected to slide down the stone wall and sit next to him. Their shoulders bumped together, and they sat in silence until Georgia spoke again.

“You’ll be away from the thick of the fighting for a few days,” she said, “Major Strayer volunteered Easy to guard Regiment.”

“How kind of him,” Dick muttered.

Georgia nudged him. “Oh, come on,” she said, “You get to see me. That should be the highlight of your week.”

“Of course,” he said, smiling a little.

Georgia chuckled, and Dick eventually joined in. They sat on the ground for a few more minutes, listening to the wind in the trees, until Georgia heard Hester calling her name.

“Goddamnit, Hester, all I wanted was fifteen minutes to myself,” she muttered.

Dick smiled and shook his head. “See you later, Red.”

Georgia nodded, and went off to see what the hell Hester wanted this time.

It ended up being something that was not her issue, so Georgia wandered back to regiment muttering “Jesus fucking Christ, Hester,” under her breath the whole way. She spotted Dick sitting with his men, and suddenly recalled the second Luger in her pocket.

“Hey, Red!” she called as she approached him.

“What is it?”

“I got you a welcome to France present,” she said, presenting him with the Luger. He took it and turned it over in his hands gingerly.

“Thank you,” he said before meeting her gaze. “I mean it.”

“Why are you giving him your only Luger, Cap?” asked Guarnere.

Typical Philadelphian.

Rolling her eyes, Georgia pulled out her second Luger.

“How did you get two of ‘em?” Toye asked.

“There were two dead German officers, Sergeant,” she replied simply.

Nodding, Toye and Guarnere turned back to cleaning their weapons. Georgia rolled her shoulders, looked at Dick who was still examining his new Luger, and eventually strode off to the new CP. It was situated inside of the bakery where the German sniper had been, and it still smelled of fresh bread. 

Once inside, Georgia sat down in a corner beside the baker’s rack and set about cleaning her own Luger. She needed something to do that didn’t require a large amount of thought, just a simple task to let her mind rest.

Cleaning the Luger morphed into cleaning her .45, which led to cleaning her carbine, which led to sharpening and cleaning her trench knife and her switchblade. By the time she was done, the white walls of the bakery were painted gold by the summer evening sun. Strangely, the moment reminded her of when she’d been a child.

Georgia and her mother had been in Marseille, and they’d gone to get pastries from a small french bakery down the lane from their townhouse by the sea. Her mother had gotten her un pain au chocolat, and they’d shared it as they’d walked back.

That had been the closest thing Georgia had ever felt to motherly love.

A mosquito landed on her neck and broke the memory apart. Georgia slapped it. The bugs were only slightly less annoying inside than out, and Georgia didn’t have to be anywhere or do anything for hours. As her eyelids began to droop, she let her head fall back against the wall and sleep overtake her.

She awoke less than an hour later with a gasp in her throat and images of silk parachutes drenched in water filling her mind. In the silence of the night, every soft breath Georgia took felt like her heaving gasps from one day earlier outside of Sainte-Mere-Eglise. She pressed her hands against her eyes, shifted around, and tried to sleep again.

It didn’t come.

She continued waking up, each time fearing more that she was going to wake up screaming about flooded fields and burning buildings.

The final time Georgia had a nightmare, she was pulled from it by a dull ache in her arm. Groggily, she recalled cutting it when she’d first landed. The adrenaline rush of the day before had prevented her from even thinking about it. However, at that moment, Georgia stood. She resolved to go have a medic look at it, maybe Roe or Spina. She could deal with them. And besides, Georgia was too valuable to be prevented from doing her job. 

With a nod to the sergeant on duty, Georgia walked off in search of E Company’s medics. The whole company was now guarding the Regimental CP, which meant that at least one of the medics ought to be awake in case of an attack. She picked her way past debris until she found a clear road lined with grass and trees on both sides. An owl hooted and flew over, as did a few bats. The crickets quieted as she would walk past them, but their constant chatter comforted her. As per usual, the mosquitoes were awful, but so was life while at war. Georgia eventually found Roe seated on the ground rooting through medical supplies a few yards away from Luz.

“Roe,” Georgia called, cringing as her voice cut into the night.

“Can I help you, Captain?” he asked.

Georgia nodded, and settled down on the grass next to him. “I cut my arm yesterday and haven’t had it checked yet.”

He glared at her.

“I know, I know. Can you look it over for me?”

Roe rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Let’s see it.”

Georgia nodded and unzipped her jump jacket before gingerly extracting her wounded arm from it. She set her jacket on the grass beside her. When Roe first touched the gash, she hissed in pain. He looked at her, and she motioned for him to get on with it.

Roe poured some water from his canteen onto a small rag and used that to clean the dried blood off.

“It looks like it’s stopped bleedin’,” he said, “but I’ve still gotta stitch it up for you - to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“Do it,” Georgia said, “and don’t waste your morphine on me.”

Roe nodded and poured a small amount of Calvados - Normandy alcohol - on the gash to sterilize the area. It made Georgia hiss in pain again, but it wasn’t as bad as the sting of the needle piercing her skin. She bit her cheek and kept quiet, and it was over soon enough. The last thing Roe did was wrap a bandage around her bicep, and tell her to come to him or another medic for a fresh one every so often.

“Thanks, Doc,” she said. He smiled, and Georgia picked up her jump jacket and draped it over her good arm. She then walked back the way she’d come.

As she returned, she noticed the lightening of the sky. Entranced, she walked to the top of a small hill just behind the main drag of Vierville.

At the crest was an open field with tall grass and wildflowers just beginning to bloom. Their beautiful colors were highlighted further by the golden light of the rising sun. From the top of the hill, Georgia could see for miles. Was this what Edith Piaf had meant when she’d sung La Vie En Rose? Though at that moment, things looked more golden than rosy. 

For one moment, Georgia was at peace.


	4. June 11th, 1944. Vierville, Normandy. France.

**_June 11th, 1944. Vierville, Normandy. France._ **

Dawn had broken, and Carentan was waiting. Five days had passed since D-Day, and the Normandy campaign wasn’t getting any easier. Georgia had been walking back from getting a new bandage for her arm and caught sight of Harry Welsh just before she went to head inside the regimental CP.

“Well, look who it is!” he called out.

Georgia laughed and smiled as she walked over to Easy Company. They were all clustered around a monument to the French men of Vierville who’d fought in the Great War. As she approached the spot, her jump boots thumped against the cobblestone street. Harry pulled her into a half hug, and she tried not to tense too much.

“It’s good to see you, Georgia,” said Harry.

“It’s good to see you too. How’s the company?”

“Good, all things considered. Dick’s thriving in leadership -”

“No surprise there.”

“Nope, not really. Nix is still following him around, though.”

Georgia sighed. “I swear, those two act like their long lost siblings or something.”

“I think they just do it to torment the rest of us,” Harry said, chuckling.

“Yeah, something like that. You ready?”

“To take Carentan? Hell yeah, I am.”

Georgia grinned. “Let’s get a move on then.”

She shook hands with Harry, then went back to the CP. Their banter was familiar and calming to her. Once back at the little bakery, she gathered up her map case, binoculars, weapons, ammo, and everything else she had to her name since entering Normandy. 

It wasn’t much, and most of it wasn’t very fashionable.

She met up with Hester and the Colonel outside, and the three of them got into a jeep. They rode in it until the roads ran out, at which point they began to traverse the terrain on foot like everyone else. They took up the rear of the march to Carentan, which was surprisingly uneventful. The only odd part had been the lake. Georgia had assumed something had spilled in it because the surface of the lake itself was on fire. As Georgia looked into the glassy water, she saw her reflection illuminated by the orange flames. She put how she looked out of her mind. As always, the mosquitoes tormented the 506th endlessly. As the day eventually drew to a close, they stopped about a mile outside of the town.

Georgia occupied herself by scouting out German positions and assigning different sectors of the city to be responsibilities of different battalions. When night came again, she was pleased that it was cloudless and that she could see the stars. It made it easier to believe that morning would come again, and easier to believe that she would wake up again if she went to sleep.

The nightmares seemed less that night, or maybe Georgia’s memory was simply foggy.

Ever the pessimist, Georgia suspected the latter.

The terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach proved her correct at almost four in the morning.

Georgia ducked behind a hedgerow and retched, hoping that no one heard. All she could remember was fire and the sound of ammunition going off and the awful screams from the soon-to-be-dead paratrooper.

As her mind cleared, Georgia noticed she was shaking, but not crying.

After spending a few minutes looking up at the stars and breathing deeply, Georgia felt like she’d collected herself. She began walking to retrieve her weapons and gear just as the 506th began to awaken. 

Checking her watch, she nodded in satisfaction. They were right on schedule for their plan to attack Carentan at first light.

As Georgia walked past the men readying themselves for the attack, she felt strange. A strangeness that was somehow separate from her nightmares. She was certain that something was coming - something she couldn’t expect. Brushing it off, she packed ammunition into her spare clips before tucking them into her jump jacket. She then loaded both her .45 and her Luger and made sure she had both of her knives.

Georgia felt similar to how she had arrived in Norfolk in 1942.

God, that was so long ago.

Her jump jacket was her armor.

Georgia tucked her hair back into a bun and put her helmet on.

The regiment marched under an order of complete silence to Carentan. They’d received word that General Taylor had elected to send the 101st Airborne Division in its entirety to take the town, and “By God” Colonel Sink wanted to get their first.

So, there they were. Crouching at the top of a rise, waiting for Easy Company to rush in down the main road.

That’s when it all went to hell.

Harry and Luz made it down into Carentan, but everyone else froze. Georgia caught sight of Dick trying to move the rest of the men out.

He screamed at the men to move, and Georgia watched from Colonel Sink’s side as Dick yanked them up individually and pushed them forward.

The rest of the fight went well. Of course, that stopped when they realized that the Krauts had artillery zeroed in on them. Georgia watched from afar as men screamed and were blown into the sky. The scene in front of her blurred back to the one from a few nights ago, and she dug her nails into her palms until she felt present again.

A few men came running up the hill, carrying their buddies. Georgia spotted Talbert and Lipton just as another regiment began to hit the German guns in force. Lipton was bleeding.

“Go!” Georgia shouted to Talbert, “I’ll find a medic for him!”

He nodded and rushed back into the fray.

“Where are you hit, Sergeant?” 

Lipton gestured to a dark, bloody spot high on his thigh as well as his face.

“Jesus Christ,” Georgia muttered, before taking Lipton’s silk escape map and tying it around his thigh. For the wound on this face, she simply poured water over it until she could see what had previously been drenched in blood. It was a good size gash across his cheekbone, and it was still bleeding. Georgia ripped her own escape map off and grimaced when it rubbed the tender skin on her neck.

She steeled herself against the sight of Lipton’s blood painting her hand red. Soon enough, a medic ran over and pushed her aside. She let him and stood vigil until she couldn’t anymore

Georgia stalked off. She wanted Lew.

She found him eventually, walking with Colonel Strayer. They were working out ways to move the wounded while speaking to Dick across the road. Lew caught sight of Georgia and gave her a grin before turning back around to follow Strayer. Georgia decided she’d have to talk to Dick, but she stopped when she heard the shot.

She swung her carbine down in an instant as Dick did the same with his Garand. After there were no more shots, she turned to look at him.

She gasped.

Dick was groaning and leaning against the stone wall for support, whilst not putting any weight on his right foot. 

“Come on,” Georgia said as she pulled his right arm across her shoulders, “We’re getting you to the aid station.”

“I’m fine,” Dick grunted out.

Georgia lightly kicked his calf, and he cried out slightly before glaring at her.

“The hell you are,” said Georgia.

The two limped through the debris of Carentan until they reached the aid station. Georgia kicked open the wooden door.

“Roe!” she shouted, “Winters got hit!”

The men looked up in surprise as Georgia half carried, half dragged Dick over to a table and sat him down upon it.

“What happened?” asked Roe as he began to get bandages and morphine.

“I got hit in my calf by a ricochet,” said Dick.

“Thanks for taking him here, Captain Fenley,” Roe said. The unspoken part was clear: Dick wouldn’t have brought himself.

“No problem, Doc. I’ll leave you to it.”

Roe nodded, and Georgia was just about to leave when she had an idea she couldn’t seem to resist.

“Hang tough, Red!” she called.

Dick groaned, but at least he was smiling that time.

After leaving her in the capable hands of Doc Roe, Georgia went outside and sat down. She decided to busy herself by checking her weapons. Her hands moved methodically, and she didn’t think. The grey fieldstone wall of the aid station pressed uncomfortably into her back, and the branches of the tree above her had small white flowers blooming on them. It seemed strange to see beauty and growth so neatly juxtaposed with war and carnage. The scents of death and ammunition assaulted her senses. The clamor of gunfire had finally become a distant background noise now that Carentan was theirs. 

After assuring that her weapons were in peak condition, she set out to find someone to talk to. She was bored and didn’t feel like going back up to regiment quite yet. Georgia eventually found a fair amount of Easy Company, including Lew and Dick, sitting beneath a few large weeping willow trees next to a stream. The mosquitoes in Normandy were slightly more tolerable down beside the stream, so Georgia decided to sit. 

She stood there, simply observing until her reverie was broken by Lew calling out to her.

“Please tell me that is not the three-hundred dollar Cartier watch I gave you when you turned eighteen,” Lew said while eyeing her wrist

Georgia looked up at Nix and began to grin like a woman gone mad. “It’s mine, Lew. I can do what I like with it,” she said.

Lew sighed, and Georgia rolled her eyes before walking over to the stream to fill up her canteen. The water was cool, and she splashed some of it across her face before subtly jumping at the memory of D-Day.

The Easy Company men had perked up upon hearing “three-hundred dollars” and were now looking at Georgia inquisitively. Sighing, she held up her wrist.

The watch itself was gorgeous. The band was black leather, with golden accents. The face itself was white with black roman numerals to mark the hours, and of course, the classical Cartier marking just above the center. 

They marveled at it for a moment more until Georgia reclaimed her arm.

All in all, the watch was simple yet elegant. Just like it’s owner, Georgia thought to herself.

Well, except for the fact that the watch wasn’t going to die scared and alone in Normandy. Frankly, Georgia was pleasantly surprised that it had survived her near-death experience outside of Sainte-Mère-Église. However, you’re paying for more than just the name when you buy Cartier, Georgia supposed.

With a slight smile playing across her features, Georgia walked back to the tree where her rifle was. She sat down and leaned back against the bark before closing her eyes.

“Hey, captain?” asked Luz.

“Yes?”

“Anyone ever told you that you look like Rita Hayworth?”

“Only everyone, every day, since 1940.”

“Just checking,” Luz replied, and Georgia smiled and shook her head.

“Don’t ask me for pictures,” Georgia muttered as she lit a cigarette.

“Sure thing, Cap,” said Luz.

Georgia smirked, and enjoyed the feeling of the warm sunlight on her face for a few minutes.

For once, she didn’t think of Norfolk, or New York, or Sainte-Mère-Église.

Not once.

Not at all.

  
  



	5. June 15th, 1944. Normandy, France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I've decided to officially change my update day to Saturday, as it works much better with my schedule. Enjoy today's update, and enjoy the ones that are still coming! Have a lovely day :)

**_June 15th, 1944. Normandy, France._ **

The rain was coming down in sheets over the 506th. Men and women were drenched, foxholes were flooded - making Georgia’s mood exponentially less amicable - and the Germans were only one hedgerow away. Easy Company had stumbled across them as the regiment had left Carentan, and Georgia believed that they were remnants of the original force that had been defending the town three days earlier. She didn’t have enough information to confirm it, which upset her. She didn’t like not knowing. Regardless, they’d held them off well enough until an hour or so before sunset, at which point Georgia had relayed Colonel Sink’s order for the soldiers to dig in for the night. Thus, here they sat, complaining as the Germans sang war songs. That moment of respite by the stream a few days earlier seemed a world away - more akin to Aldbourne than Normandy. Now, Georgia sat beside Lew underneath a moonless sky, about ready to snap his neck if he didn’t shut up.

“Hey, at least there’s no thunder,” Lew said.

“Lewis,” Georgia said through clenched teeth, “that does not make me feel any better.” 

“Don’t call me Lewis.”

“Don’t speak.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

Lew turned towards Georgia and she rolled her eyes. She felt that at any moment, her foxhole was going to fill with water and that her combat gear would pin her to the ground and she’d die scared and alone. She knew Lew would listen if she told him about it, but she wasn’t in the mood.

Thus, Georgia elected to continue staring out into the night, smoking cigarette after cigarette, wishing for a peaceful sleep that she knew would never come.

The minutes ticked by slowly until it reached three-thirty. At that time, Georgia climbed out of the foxhole and went to walk the line. She barely made it twenty-five yards in the direction of 2nd Battalion before she heard shouting.

“Goddamnit, what part of noise discipline did you morons not understand?” Georgia muttered. As she tiptoed towards the source of the sound, she was met with Ron Speirs. Water was dripping down his face, creating small patterns in the burnt cork and dirt there.

“What’s going on, Sparky?”

“Easy Company has some nervous privates,” said Ron.

Georgia looked at him for a moment, raised an eyebrow, then conceded.

“I’m going to feel worse if you give me context for that statement, aren’t I?” she asked.

“Most definitely.”

She sighed. Ron chuckled.

“I suppose I’ll find out when I find out, in that case.”

“Fair enough,” Ron said. “I’ll see you around.”

Georgia nodded, and returned to walking the line. She was still drenched and cold, and she felt like a wet dog. She crouched down in the grass and mud and let her head fall into her hands.

“It’s going to be a long night,” she said. 

She didn’t know who she was talking to.

Nothing occurred on her way back to the foxhole, and Lew was asleep by the time she arrived. She jumped down, leaned her rifle against the dirt, and pulled her knees up to her chest.

Sleep was fleeting.

Even more so when the Germans attacked at first light.

The sun was bright, and the smell of war was high on the wind. Smoke, blood, and other scents she couldn’t quite pick out wafted towards her where she sat in the grass reading stolen German documents. Georgia herself couldn’t quite believe that this was her life now. It still felt like a fever dream.

Something she wished was a dream was seeing Dog and Fox Companies pull out, completely ruining the tactic. Men were running and dropping all through the tall grass behind the hedgerow.

“What are they doing?” Georgia said, rising to her feet.

“I haven’t got a damn clue,” said Colonel Sink.

“They can’t leave! They need to stay in position.”

“Damnit, I know!”

As Georgia stood beside Colonel Sink, she began to seethe with anger. She’d spent hours drafting up and perfecting this plan with the other regimental staff officers, only for it to be shot to hell in mere moments as two out of 2nd Battalion’s three companies disregarded their orders. Jaw clenched, Georgia grabbed her binoculars and peered through them towards the hedgerow.

“Panzers,” she said, “The Krauts have got Panzers.”

The Colonel swore, and Georgia frantically tried to figure out where the hell they’d come from. Last she’d heard, Hitler’s personal Panzer divisions were still locked up in Germany, despite calls for them to be released to stem the flow of Allied troops on D-Day. There had been no other intelligence suggesting that there were Panzers this close to the 506th.

Just as Georgia went to apologize to Colonel Sink for not having known about the tanks earlier, she saw something that very nearly made her jaw drop.

There, in the middle of an open field with tall grass blowing about like ocean waves, sat Harry Welsh. Beside him was a man from one of Easy Company’s mortar squads. They had to be at least fifteen yards in front of Easy’s main line, and they were completely exposed.

And on top of that, the German tanks were headed right for them.

The mortar went off and hit the impenetrable side of one of the tanks.

“Wasted round,” Georgia muttered.

They fired again, just as one of the Panzers rose up to clear a hill.

It hit the underside of the tank. The Panzer stopped, and men came pouring out like rats from a flooded sewer. Harry and the other man retreated back, bringing the mortar with them. Georgia grinned and lit a cigarette.

She didn’t catch up with any of the men from Easy Company until several days later. 3rd Battalion had finally rejoined the regiment after jumping with the 501st on D-Day. They had lost some soldiers but overall seemed in good spirits. It felt good to have the regiment back to something resembling full strength, after just over a week of compensating for the lack of manpower. Now, Georgia could plan without struggling to find enough men to lead a combat assault.

Not that that was going to be an issue, though. Colonel Sink had received word earlier that morning that the 506th would be moving to a field camp north of Utah Beach, which almost certainly meant that they’d be heading back to England in no time. With this news, Georgia had gone off to find the battalion commanders or some of their officers. She’d run into Lew first, then Horton with 3rd. 

As Georgia walked past the edge of the woods towards 1st Battalion, she saw an old farmhouse through the trees. She heard birds sing and wind in the trees and the soft pitter-patter of rain and -

“Medic!”

The shrill cry was jarring, yet all too familiar.

Georgia stood shock still for just a moment, but the cries continued.

A torrent of gunfire began.

Snapped from her reverie, she jogged forward to see what was happening. A solitary twig snapped beneath her foot, and she slowed her pace. When the farmhouse came into clearer view, she quickly understood what must have happened.

Blithe was lying on the ground as Doc Roe poured sulfa powder onto a wound on his neck. The other men of the combat patrol were pouring covering fire in the direction of the farmhouse as a few more ran back towards the company. Sighing, Georgia looked over at Lew and Harry.

“Sniper?” she asked as she walked over.

“Looks like it,” said Lew. Harry threw his cigarette on the ground as it failed to light.

“It shouldn’t have happened. Not when we’re this close to leaving the front lines,” Harry said, anger evident in his stance.

“I’m afraid the Germans have a different opinion,” said Georgia.

“No shit,” Harry said.

Georgia rolled her eyes. His anger, however righteous he might have thought it was, wouldn’t do any of them good.

“We’re heading to the field camp soon. Get your men ready, but make sure they’re not too excited that they can’t do their jobs,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, looking back towards Blithe. 

Lew nodded and walked off, probably to find Dick and tell him about Blithe. Georgia stayed near Harry for a few minutes, listening to the soft summer rain until she couldn’t hear birdsong anymore. Easy Company had gone, and she was alone.

Georgia walked back the way she came. As she neared the edge of the forest, she saw a small white flower on the ground.

“Edelweiss,” she said softly. Picking it up, she admires its soft little petals. She tucked it into her pocket with the intention of giving it to Marian. Edelweiss was the German symbol for a true soldier, and Marian was certainly that.

Thunder crackled through the sky, and lightning shot down in the distance.

Georgia turned and began to walk back the way she’d come with the rapidly darkening sky at her back. The rain fell gently around her and a single raindrop fell on her cheek. She wiped it off harshly as if its removal would take away all of her bad memories.

She knew it wouldn’t.

The rain would eventually end, and Georgia would be left alone with her thoughts.

  
  



	6. June 24th, 1944. Carentan, Normandy. France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! We're almost to the end of Their Finest Hour :( but never fear! Catch Her If You Can will continue, with bonus content on my Tumblr! Thanks, and have a lovely day :)

**_June 24th, 1944. Carentan, Normandy. France._ **

Carentan still held the scars of war, but it was quiet now. Georgia picked her way around the cinderblocks and bricks that littered the street. The dust had long since settled, but she still felt like there was a German soldier waiting behind every corner. 

The 506th had moved back into the town to hold the line until they could be sent back to England - God only knew when that would be. General Taylor had said they’d be relieved after three or so days, but that had clearly been wishful thinking. Georgia sighed and wiped the sweat from her brow. She’d found herself pulled every which way between her duties as an intelligence officer and being paraded around by Colonel Sink. He was quite eager to show off his combat seasoned S-2 to the commanders of other parachute infantry regiments. 

Now, Georgia was walking towards the nurses’ tents with a small bowl of vanilla ice cream she’d stolen from the mess a few minutes earlier. Her foot caught on a small pile of rubble and she nearly tripped and fell.

She uttered a phrase no southern belle would ever dream of saying, steadied herself, then continued on.

Georgia slipped in when the nurse on duty was looking the other way and made a beeline straight for a redheaded paratrooper staring dejectedly at the ceiling.

The tent was barren, and smelled of morphine and death. Olive drab canvas muted the early afternoon sunlight and made Dick and Georgia’s hair appear duller than usual.

“Good afternoon, Dick!” Georgia said as she plopped down on the edge of his hospital cot. 

“Afternoon,” he said, pushing himself up into a seated position. He was laying on top of the covers with his hands folded over his chest. His bad calf was propped up on two pillows at the foot of the cot. “Is that ice cream?”

Georgia nodded and held out the bowl to him. He bent down and retrieved the spoon from his mess kit and sighed happily as he started eating.

“Where’d you get it?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Georgia said as she glanced around. It was nice enough for a combat hospital, better than most of their other accommodations in Normandy. Dick finished the ice cream soon enough and smiled at Georgia.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome. Any word on when they plan on letting you out of here?”

“Any day now, so I’ve heard.”

“That’s good. Talbert’s back causing trouble and we need somebody to reign him in.”

“Why is that my job?”

“Because, you’re his CO, Red,” said Georgia.

Sighing, Dick rolled his eyes.

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Dick said.

“Precisely. Now, I’m going to leave before one of these nurses realizes I shouldn’t be here.”

“You snuck in?” Dick asked, brow furrowed.

“Of course I did! Now go on, look wounded.”

“You’re out of your mind, Red,” Dick muttered. However, he leaned back on his elbows and hid the ice cream bowl under his cot.

Georgia smiled at the nickname and left. Dick watched her until she slipped out of sight, then slumped back down.

The late June sun blinded Georgia for a moment after the soft darkness of the tent. Raising a hand to shield her eyes, she walked back to her billet six streets over, near the other side of Carentan. It was a modest two-story house that she shared with Hester and Matheson, who had each claimed a room on the first floor. Georgia walked in and shut the door.

“I’m back!”

Hester emerged from his room and leaned against the door frame, his blond hair falling into his face.

“Alright,” Hester said, “Matheson’s in a meeting with Sink, so it’s just me and you. You need anything?”

“No, thank you,” Georgia said.

Hester nodded and returned to his room, leaving the door ajar. Georgia walked upstairs, her jumps boots thumping against the stairs. Her room was first on the right, with floral wallpaper. It faced west, which ensured that Georgia could soak up every last possible bit of daylight there was. Now, the room was bathed in the golden light streaming through the window and reflected off the mirror. She’d constructed herself a makeshift vanity by stacking ammunition boxes next to the floor-length mirror and placing a chair she’d carried up the stairs in front of that. Sat atop the boxes was that god-awful lipstick the Army had issued her and two spare packs of Lucky Strikes.

Georgia sat in her chair straight-backed and looked at her reflection. She could see a tall pine tree standing alone through the open window at her back. Her gaze shifted back onto herself. Her upper chest was pale in comparison to her neck, which had become tan after hours spent outside in the sun. She shrugged off her jump jacket and saw something similar on her arms. Her mother had called this type of tan a farmer’s tan once, and Georgia smiled bitterly.

Farming was peaceful.

With a sigh, Georgia leaned forward and put her elbows on her thighs. Her brown eyes looked dead, and her once smooth face was littered with freckles. The cut on her arm from D-Day had healed partially to an ugly brown scab that would be all too noticeable in a French evening gown.

Georgia stood and shoved the chair back violently. She grabbed the quilt off the foot of the bed and hung it over the mirror. Her lipstick and cigarettes clattered to the floor, and she tossed them on the desk beside the window.

Movement caught her eye, but it was only the pine tree, still swaying softly in the breeze. Georgia clenched her fists and threw herself down onto the bed.

She wanted to feel like she had before jumping into Normandy. She’d lost something that night, something she couldn’t get back. It wasn’t innocence, for she’d never had that to begin with.

Georgia turned back to the pine tree. It stood strong and lonesome.

Georgia tugged her hair loose from its updo, and tangled red curls cascaded down her back. She let her feet carry her to the windowsill, and hopped up onto it. She sat with her brown jump boots knocking against one side of the window and her back up against the other. She exhaled long and slow, and let her eyes slip closed.

Georgia kept telling herself she wanted to feel like she had back in England, but truth be told, she wasn’t very sure who that was. Wasn’t sure who she was.

Georgia Fenley, Airborne officer.

Georgia Fenley, Norfolk debutante.

Friend. 

Lover.

Liar.

Every single one rang true like a bell. Secrets slid around them like snakes in the grass, waiting to bite her and drag her down. The only way to escape them was to keep running and to avoid looking back.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Interesting fact! The paratrooper hanging from the church wasn't actually dead - he was faking! He was John Steele of the 82nd Airborne, and he lived to survive the war after being captured by the Germans when they realized he wasn't dead. His D-Day has just always stuck out to me, so I decided to include it.


End file.
